


Exactly Where You Like Me

by WhatEvenAmI



Series: No-Shame November [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And By Bondage I Mean Pinned Down By Super Soldier, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Omorashi, Self-Hatred, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-25 11:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16196213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI
Summary: Bucky's been pushing back against his doms lately.Sam and Steve intend to figure out why—and bring him back in line.





	Exactly Where You Like Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Babybucky1943](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Babybucky1943/gifts).



For a while, things were going wonderfully.

Bucky had been doing so much better than he was when he first came to live with Steve. Back then he was so convinced that no one could ever want him, not like this, and then he somehow acquired two loving, caring boyfriends who were willing to boss him around the apartment and enjoyed dominating the crap out of him in bed, ganging up, two against one, so that he didn't even have a chance. Cared for and controlled, exactly as he needed it.

And sure, it was a little embarrassing to need it that much, and to the extent that he did. But Sam and Steve both seemed to enjoy it so much, so he started to feel a little calmer, and having done some research at the urging of his therapist, he knew he wasn't the only sub who liked to be dominated outside of the bedroom as much as in it. There were lots of other subs who enjoyed and craved non-sexual submission, so at least he got to assure himself that he probably wasn't the weirdest or the neediest sub in the world. Maybe not even the most broken. 

And he managed to keep of thriving and feeling safe, more comfortable in himself and his new role in the world—Steve and Sam both said it was okay if he wasn't up to being anything more than their little plaything, they could work on it when he was ready, they'd take care of him entirely for as long as he needed.

Then came the phone call.

Bucky had finally been entrusted to stay home by himself, because both Sam and Steve were needed on a mission to squash out another HYDRA head. Bucky wants to fight HYDRA, he does, but he's not kidding himself; he's not strong enough yet. He isn't ready. He hates to admit it, but he knows that he's not. But he'd been doing okay, sticking around the apartment mostly, just going to therapy, occasionally following orders texted in from Steve and Sam.

Then his phone rang in the middle of the night, and it was Sam, and that was all wrong, Bucky knew it was, because Sam and Steve wanted him to get more sleep, they'd been constantly telling him when to go to bed, so it was Steve and something's happened, Bucky knew it was Steve.

"He's alive," Sam told him, and he breathed again, "And he's in medical care, and the way he heals he should pull through. I'll keep you posted, all right?" He'd wrapped up their call by ordering Bucky to take care of himself, saying Steve would want him to. He told him to get up and change if he needed to change, and usually Bucky's cheeks would have heated at that, but not that night. That night he could only focus on one thought.

He should've been there.

Should still be there, with him, in case he'd been about to draw his final breaths.

Bucky could barely breathe, himself, at the thought.

He focused in on the order because it was all he could cling to. Eventually he did leave the bed and get himself cleaned up. The first time Steve had done this for him, his hands had been so gentle that he'd been amazed he could still be touched so tenderly.

He cried the whole time, and cried in the bed for a long time, praying desperately for Steve's recovery until he exhausted himself and sleep took him.

The scare is over, now, and Steve's fine, the asshole just gave everyone a damn nasty scare, as he's so good at doing, but he pulled through and in the two weeks since, his stamina is almost entirely back to its prior levels. 

But Bucky hasn't been able to feel the same since, and his doms are getting tired of it, which is why Sam's standing over him as he huddles on the couch, arms crossed. He's been overworrying more, unable to tell them what's wrong, and the same commands that once made him melt in relief now make him hesitate first, push boundaries, unable to understand why he's doing it and feeling guilty for defying what he knows he needs. For making his doms worry.

"We've been patient," Sam says, and Bucky's breath catches, desperately hoping that he hasn't run their patience to the end of its limits. "You won't talk to your therapist, and you won't talk to us. Things can't go on like this. We're taking control."

Behind him, Steve stands, towering over him with a tall glass of water in hand. In spite of himself, Bucky shrinks into the couch, flooded with shame at his relief that they're not giving him up. He can't function without them. He needs to, damn it, but he can't, they can't leave.

And still, when Steve hands him the water with a commanding look in his eye, he tries to hold his gaze. But Steve's learned to stare him down into sub space and he finds himself sinking, reaching for the glass of water even though he glares tries to defy.

"Drink it."

They'll make him weak. He shouldn't be weak. He shouldn't be  _allowed_ to be weak. They'll take him apart and wrap him in blankets and make him soft and needy and pathetic and he tries to fight it, tries to hold on and stare Steve down.

"Drink. Or do you need us to make you?"

A thrill of terror and desire shoots through Bucky at the thought. How would they make him? He has no doubt they could. 

He wants them to. He shouldn't want it, and he's hot and humiliated at the need, but God, he wants it. And he keeps staring them down, half-hoping they won't, and half-hoping they will, already about to come apart and he was going to try, going to force himself to stop needing help and be a real damn man, but Steve's handing the water to Sam and he's slowly sitting next to Bucky on the couch and they're going to do it, they're going to break through all of the defenses he'd so pathetically tried to put up.

Steve's strong arms are looping around his shoulders, legs around his, warm and all hard muscle, and Bucky tries to wriggle free and is all the more thrilled and slightly aroused when he realizes how tight Steve's got him. Sam's holding the glass of water to his lips and Bucky jerks his head away, but he's caught, and Steve's voice is low and rough in his ear. "You remember your safeword, Bucky?"

"Yes," he spits out sullenly. He's never used it yet, but he hasn't forgotten.

"Do you want to use it now? Or do you want us to get you through this?"

They've got him. He's being held, so soft and so firm at the same time, so warm and safe to go to pieces. And who is he kidding? He's tried functioning alone, and he was a pitiful goddamn wreck and this was the only thing that held him together.

"I want this," he admits, forcing out the words with tears of shame in his eyes, "I want you. I need...I need."

"Then drink," Sam commands.

Shaking against Steve's hold, Bucky drinks.

On instinct, he tries to break free, but Steve's got him, voice soft in his ear as the cool water snakes its way down. He could spit out the water. He thinks about spitting out the water. But then what? He'll only worry them worse. He's never like this. He  _wants_ to be good.  _Needs_ to.

He finishes the glass, and when Sam returns with another in each hand, he commands Bucky to answer their questions. 

"It was when Steve got hurt, right? That messed you up," Sam says. His voice is softer than it's been all evening, and Bucky nods as he allows another sip to be coaxed into him. They may be able to make him pathetic, but he doesn't have to make it  _too_ easy for them.

"So, all right, and you won't talk to your therapist about it because..."

"She can't fix it," Bucky says, sullen.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because she can't make me less broken!" Bucky blurts out.

"Buck," Steve's squeezing in on him, holding him so still, "You're not—"

"I am! I always needed this! She can't make me stop needing this!" Bucky tries to refuse the next sip of water, but Sam holds it steady and Bucky can't resist his reflexive need to obey. Glaring, he swallows. He'd be cold inside now if he weren't all wrapped up in Steve.

"But you don't have to stop. We'll love you just like this. We do love you." Steve's voice is soft and pleading for the first time and Bucky feels so hot with shame. All he does is make Steve worry and work and take care of him and he's already needing to go now and he has to fight it, has to, but he already knows he's going to go to pieces in their hands just like he always does, needy and begging, his shame swelling up in his diaper when his body can't keep it in.

"I shouldn't _need_ it," he mutters petulantly. But he's going to. He can already feel all that water making its way through him. They're going to make him need it. He'll lose control just like he always does, and nothing will ever change.

"What makes you think you can't need it?" Sam's gaze is so steady. Bucky tries to squirm away from him, to hide, but Steve holds him still and forces him front and center.

"Because I'm pathetic! I should be trying to—to be useful, to fix things! And you're always here when I need things and I can never be there when you need anything! I can't protect you! I can't help! All I can do is damage the world and make you help me and take, take, take—" 

Bucky's fighting, struggling, squeezing his legs together, trying to hold his breath, but Steve's got him and as Bucky finally settles, he can hear Steve's constant, steady whispering in his ear, making him want to let his urine go. "You do help us, Bucky. You're so good to us, by being this, by letting us help. You're just what we need. Just what I need, Bucky, you're just what I need."

"You're a good boy," Sam soothes, and Bucky relaxes in spite of himself, till a spurt of piss escapes between his thighs and he gasps and tries to squeeze between his legs. But Steve's got his hands and he can't grab onto himself no matter how hard he tries. There are tears on his face and he reluctantly accepts several gulps of water held to his lips, cooling and calming. "Good job getting that off your chest. It's not your fault you need so much help. I bet it's hard, needing all that when you want to be out there, fixing shit."

Bucky nods, tears rolling. "I want to be good. I just wanna be good, Sam."

"You are good," Sam shushes him, "You're so good, and that's why it's so hard for you to sit by. Now we're going to go in and have a little chat all together with your therapist, and get this all worked out. But you need to give yourself time to get ready and you know it, so stop punishing yourself. You'll only make it worse. That's an order, you hear me?"

Bucky whines. He _needs_ to go, and he's so conflicted about giving up all his control where it used to come so easily, and he about wants to  _die_ at the thought of discussing his weird sex life in front of his therapist, but he knows he can't do this on his own. He spent the last several weeks trying and fucking it all up, worrying anyone who cares about him. "O-okay. Sam?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Sorry I was being a brat before. Scaring you."

Sam smiles fondly and reaches out to stroke his tear-streaked face. "Even when you're being a brat, we know you're our good boy. You can let go now, whenever you're ready. We got you."

He's terrified to let go. He can't let go, usually, not this easily, but he's been fighting what he knows he needs and his body craves submission as much as his mind does, and with a bliss that almost whites out his brain, he just stops struggling and falls back into Steve and he relaxes his body all the way. All the heat surges out and he's feeling all the fear of nearly losing Steve all over again but Steve's there, he's got him, holding on. "I was so scared," he sobs as he wets his diaper against Steve's lap, Sam's hand pressing at the warmth between his legs. "I thought I'd lose you. I couldn't, without you, I couldn't..."

"We're right here, Bucky," Steve whispers in his ear, "We've got you, I'm so sorry, I'm here, we've always got you."

Sam's stroking his face and Steve's warm and alive holding him down and it's such a relief to let himself have what he needs. He just wets himself and lets them tell him that's okay and they ease away his shame and wipe away his tears, and they tell him he's beautiful and he can finally allow them back in.

And it feels just like coming home.


End file.
